


your hands, my heart

by gummies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Begging, Consensual Non-Consent, Desk Sex, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Manhandling, Off-Screen Negotiation, Size Difference, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: Jon and Martin work through a mutual fantasy.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 396





	your hands, my heart

"Let _go!"_ Jon hissed, jerking away. It was futile- Martin's grip was firm and steady around his wrists, pinning Jon's hands to the surface of his desk.

He was pushed up against said desk, bent over it slightly as Martin pulled his captive wrists forward. Jon tried to squirm out of the hold, but it was no use. Martin was behind him, hips flush to Jon's waist. Jon blushed furiously as he felt something hard dig into his lower back, redoubling his efforts.

"Jon, please try to calm down, you'll hurt yourself," Martin said. He was tall enough that he could bury his face in the top of Jon's hair as he spoke, letting out a sigh of contentment. Jon, for his part, made several attempts to headbutt him away. But he didn't have the leverage for there to be any real effect, and all he succeeded in was emphasising how trapped he was.

"How _dare_ you- Goddamnit Martin, get your hands off me this instant! This has gone too far!" As if to spite him, Martin's free hand landed on his waist. He played with the hem of Jon's shirt, the warm pads of his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of his side. Despite himself, Jon shivered.

"I don't think so," Martin said, teasing. The calmness of his tone as he manhandled Jon was somewhere between infuriating and terrifying. Like it was so _easy._ Hell, it probably was- Martin was practically double his size, if not larger. Jon's struggles must've held little more threat than that of a kitten batting its claws at a wolf.

Martin's hand slid down Jon's thigh and back up again, rubbing appreciatively. Jon let out an indignant squeak as it slipped down his trousers, into his boxers, and onto his naked skin. The hand was large but gentle, cupping one of Jon's cheeks in its entirety and rolling the tensing flesh between his fingers.

Jon bit his lip to muffle himself, though it didn't do much good.

"Oh- that was _adorable,"_ Martin cooed. Embarrassingly enough, he sounded like he meant it. "You can make noises if you want, I don't mind! It helps me know what you like."

"I'd _like_ you to st- ah!" Jon cut himself off with a gasp as Martin's fingers dipped between his cheeks, spreading him with ease. He could feel the tip of a finger pressing against his hole- not pushing in, just nudging him.

"Stop!" Jon demanded, the anger in his voice giving way to fear. "Stop- I'm not- you can't-"

Mercifully, Martin's hand receded. Jon had only a moment of relief before his trousers were tugged down around his thighs, underwear and all. He flinched at the sudden chill on his bottom, mortified by the exposure. 

Martin's hand returned immediately, pinching one of Jon's cheeks _hard,_ then giving the other the same treatment. Jon let out a whimper at the pain, then at the knowledge of how pink and rosy his arse was going. It was as if the Beholding was spurring his humiliation on, making sure he was as embarrassed as humanly possible. He felt one of Martin's knees slide between his thighs, urging Jon to spread them.

Jon tried to keep them closed, but it was no use. Just that was enough to splay him, parting his cheeks. He sucked in a breath at the feeling of cool air on his hole coupled with rough cloth grinding into his front. Suddenly, it sunk in how utterly _helpless_ he was. How on display, pinned to his own desk, waiting for Martin to do whatever it was he wished with him.

Behind him, Jon heard the sound of a bottle being uncapped.

"M-Martin," he began, switching tactics, "I know I'm- that I haven't always treated you with fairness, but we- we can talk about it. You've made your point, just- let me go."

In lieu of a response, Jon felt a sudden slickness being spread over his hole. The cold made him startle, flinching. But he had nowhere to go. Jon tried to kick, only to find himself being lifted higher on Martin's knee, toes straining to keep his balance. 

The fingers returned, and Jon couldn't contain his grunt of displeasure as they moved, rubbing the lubricant along his rim.

"It's okay," Martin assured him, voice sweet even as he began to _push_ one digit into Jon's arse. "Don't worry, I'll go slow. It might seem like a little much at first, though, since you're so small."

Jon gasped as Martin's finger entered him, sliding home with impossible ease. How could one finger feel so _big?_ Jon knew Martin's hands were large, but surely just this shouldn't have been enough to make him feel so full.

He tried not to imagine what Martin's view must've been like. Jon's arse presented, pucker glistening with lube as it reluctantly swallowed the finger it was being fed.

After a brief moment of stillness, presumably deciding Jon was acclimated enough to the intrusion, Martin began to move. He twisted his finger, sinking it in until it could go no farther, knuckle brushing Jon’s rim. 

“Take it out!” Jon begged, thighs clenching. “Take it out, please, _please-”_

Martin pulled back, only to push in with one more finger. They plunged in about halfway, then paused and twisted apart, spreading Jon’s hole open. There was a sound of a bottle being squeezed, and then the shock of more cold lube, this time gushing directly into him.

Despite their size, the fingers slid in easier than ever, the tightness of Jon's arse not enough to counteract the slickness inside it. 

"Wow," Martin commented. "You're taking this a lot better than I expected. Look- you're even wet!"

Jon whimpered in shame as Martin's words hit him. It was true- his cunt had left a wet spot where Martin's thigh pressed up against it, his clit swollen and hard. Now that he'd noticed it, the dull ache of arousal was almost too much to take. He could barely restrain himself from throwing out what little dignity of his remained and grinding against Martin like a dog in heat.

"You must really like having your arse played with," Martin said idly, as if to himself. He crooked his fingers, fucking them in and out, and it became cruelly obvious to Jon that he was being prepared for something even larger.

"N-no!" He argued, "No, no- I _don't!"_

"Are you sure?" Martin teased, pressing his fingers into the sensitive wall between his arse and his cunt, drawing out another humiliated cry. "Because, to be honest, you sound like you're enjoying it. This can't be the first time you've taken something back here- I'd be surprised if it was even the first time this week. You're tight, but not as tight as you should be. Do you just use your fingers, or do you have toys at home? I bet you do- something thick enough to leave you gaping when you finally pull off of it."

"Is that what you want me to do to you?" Martin asked, and Jon could _hear_ the blush in his voice. "Leave your cute little hole all soft and pliant, too loose to do anything besides twitch?"

Jon moaned at the words, pushing his hips back against Martin before he could catch himself. "No, no, no, no, Martin, please, you _can't-"_

With one last, firm nudge, Martin thrust his fingers into the soft, tender flesh and kept them steady. An unrelenting, inescapable pressure. The force of it shoved Jon forward, grinding his poor clit against the rough fabric of Martin's trousers. His mouth fell open in a silent sob as he came, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. Martin's fingers stayed inside him, wrenching the unwilling orgasm from him with every subtle movement.

Jon sagged against his desk, having given up all hope of escape. He sighed with relief as the fingers finally slid out of him with a quiet, but still audible, squelch.

His arse, once tight and tense, felt… loose. Open. His hole struggled in vain to close, but the rim had been stretched far enough that it couldn't quite manage to. Jon shivered as he felt a thin stream of lube begin to leak out past his hole and down his premium, nothing to keep it in.

"See?" Martin asked, tracing his fingers through the wetness and pushing it back inside. There was barely any resistance, Jon's arse accepting the intrusion with only the faint sting of overstimulation. "That wasn't so bad. Think you're ready for something a little bigger?"

Martin punctuated his words by leaning down, pressing his weight onto Jon in something approaching an embrace. His erection, still clothed, was an unforgettable presence against Jon's lower back. 

Jon shook his head as much as he was able, but even he knew it was hopeless. His skin prickled with goosebumps as he heard a zipper being pulled.

There were more sounds, mostly of shuffling clothing. Then something hot and heavy met Jon's skin, glancing his hole to slide between his cheeks, aided in part by the lubrication already there. Jon's throat went dry as he took in the size of Martin's cock.

"No," Jon whimpered again, though now it sounded more pleading than defiant. "No, no, no, no…" he trailed off as Martin lowered him back to the ground. His legs were shaking too much to support his weight, and if not for the desk, he surely would have collapsed. Behind him, Martin lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock kissing Jon's already sore hole. When he thrust forwards, there was nothing Jon could do to stop it from sinking in.

Just the head of Martin's prick was thicker than the fingers combined, but it pried Jon open easily. The stretch burned, and for a moment, Jon thought it wouldn't fit. That it was simply too much for him to take. Then something gave. About half of Martin's cock slid into him all at once, that alone filling him deeper than any fingers could.

Jon's begging had devolved into soft, miserable noises. He still couldn't clench properly- all trying did was exaggerate the size of the cock inside him, splitting Jon open like a spike.

"Th-there you go," Martin murmured, petting Jon's flank like one would a frightened animal.

Without giving him any time to adjust, Martin began to move. He pulled away, and the sensation of his prick dragging across Jon's flesh until just the head remained made Jon yelp. Nothing chafed, thankfully- the copious amount of lubricant assured that. It was a bit of a curse in disguise, however, since without the pain all Jon could focus on was how _good_ what Martin was doing felt.

With a gentle pat, Martin began the slide back in. This time, he only stopped when Jon had taken an extra inch more than he had originally.

The process continued. Somehow, Martin went both agonisingly slowly _and_ without regard for Jon's comfort. The only coherent thought in Jon's mind was _too much, too much,_ repeated endlessly. His arse felt beyond overstimulated, like the nerves had been fried and the wires crossed until all he felt was not-quite-pleasure but not-quite-pain.

By the time Martin was fully seated in his arse, tears were rolling down Jon's cheeks. Martin released his waist to hook his arm under Jon's thigh, hiking the leg up. The movement jostled the cock inside of him, shifting it deeper than before.

Just as he'd entered Jon in the first place, Martin fucked him slowly. There was no rush- like he had all the time in the world to ruin Jon's arse. Jon wondered how long he'd been stuck there, impaled on Martin's cock. How long until he'd be allowed off it.

Every thrust was torturous, his rim stretched taut as it was rolled up and down Martin's prick in an endless rhythm. At this angle, the head dug right into those sensitive spots behind his cunt. It wasn't long before he came once more, arse clenching involuntarily, as if it were trying to keep Martin in.

For a moment, the motions sputtered. Then Martin released Jon's hands, instead taking hold of the back of Jon's head to use as leverage.

Long past the point of caring, Jon sobbed openly. He'd never felt so used, so raw. Martin's hips didn't slow at the sound of his crying- if anything, they picked up speed, fucking into him relentlessly. All Jon could hear was the soft pant of Martin's breath above him and the lewd slap of skin on skin from behind. There were almost certainly going to bruises later, especially on the thigh Martin was so cruelly stretching upwards.

As Martin's thrusts grew erratic, it rekindled some of the fear in Jon- one last spark of dignity, just on the verge of being put out.

"Please, don't," he begged, voice muffled against the table. "Please, n-not inside, please, please don't-"

"Don't what?" Martin said breathlessly.

Jon whimpered his next words, too quiet for even him to make out properly. 

The hand pinning Jon's head to the table shifted, taking a fistful of hair and using it to pull his face up off the surface. Jon hissed. He'd hoped the pain would be grounding, but it just confused his senses even more. He almost didn't hear Martin when he spoke again.

"Don't _what,_ Jon?" His tone wasn't angry, but the firmness made Jon cower in spite of himself. He knew he wouldn't escape this, in the same way he couldn't escape being fucked.

"D-don't come inside m-m-me, please, p-please don't," Jon choked out.

"Why not?" Martin asked, giving Jon's hair a small tug when he didn't respond.

"Ah! I can't, I don't- I d-don't want it, please, _please,_ I'll do anything, just _don't-"_

"Where else should I do it, then?" teased Martin, as if Jon was being silly.

Jon's thoughts stuttered to a halt, heart pounding.

"On… on my arse," he eventually croaked, throat dry. "My arse. Please."

Martin groaned, grinding their hips together one last time before pulling out. He took his time, apparently savouring the way every inch made Jon wail. He was beyond overstimulated, but Martin didn’t seem to care.

As the tip left him, Jon blanched. Unlike before, his arse had given up all pretenses of even _trying_ to close. He could feel himself left open, could feel the cold air on him, _in_ him, an awful sting.

A sting that would quickly be soothed with something worse. 

Jon shut his eyes, willing himself not to see, not to _want_ to see, but it was futile. The scene played out from behind his eyelids, and Jon was treated to the best possible view- _Martin’s_ view. He watched, helpless, as Martin let go of his thigh to fist his own cock, brandishing it in Jon’s direction.

The sight of himself made Jon cringe. His arse was practically on display, upturned over the edge of his own desk like an offering. Between his cheeks, his hole gaped. It was stretched and pink, and the only words Jon could think of to describe it were _fucked thoroughly._

Martin came with a bitten-off grunt, putting the cherry on top of Jon’s humiliation and painting his arse with streaks of white.

As the image faded from Jon’s mind, so did the rest of the situation’s pretenses.

“S-scene,” he called with the last of his strength.

In an instant, Martin's presence softened. The tight hold he’d had on Jon’s hair gave way to soft, gentle petting. 

“Scene,” he echoed, sounding exhausted but pleased. “That was- you were- I mean, what's your number?"

"Ten," Jon answered immediately, "and you?"

"Ten," Martin agreed, audibly giddy. "Definitely a ten. God, that was…"

“Cathartic?” Jon offered, trying and failing to haul himself upright with shaking arms.

Martin swept in immediately to steady him. “I was going to say _intense,_ but yeah, that too. Are you sure you’re alright?” He was flushed and panting, pants still unzipped, but his entire focus was on Jon. Cupping his face and brushing away loose strands of sweat-slick hair.

Jon snorted. “I- I’m rather more than _alright._ I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next week.” 

“Well,” Martin smiled, exhaustion wrinkling the corners of his eyes, “good thing I’m here to tuck you in!” In one smooth motion, he leaned down and scooped Jon into his arms bridal-style. Jon half-yelped, half-laughed, swatting at him good naturedly.

“You cannot _seriously_ be expecting me to go to bed-”

“Sleep is important, especially after stuff like this! You need your rest. And some water, and maybe a snack, which, coincidentally, are in the bedroom!”

“Your _semen_ is on my arse. What I need is a shower.” Jon retorted. Even as he spoke, his eyelids felt heavy. He was almost comfortable enough to pass out then and there. Almost.

“How about a bath?” Martin negotiated, shifting Jon’s weight around as he began to walk in the direction of the safehouse’s bathroom. 

Jon hummed in consideration. “...Fine. But,” he said, “you’re washing my hair.” 

“So, just like usual?” Martin chuckled. Jon gave him another smack, this one even more pitiful than the last. He was too tired to respond, so he didn’t. His eyes fell shut, knowing that he was in good hands.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic started entirely on accident, but what was I going to do, not finish it? i will draw the line at editing it tonight, since i'm tired, though i'm posting it now because i just want to get it out there. hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> the next thing posted should be chapter two of tmmte, so stay tuned for that.


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